


Bedsharing

by EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12



Series: Jaime and Brienne and What We All Deserved [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Braime Bunch, Canon Disabled Character, Dad Jaime, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Jaime Confronting His Demons and Being Happy on Tarth with his Badass Wife, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Tarth, Tywin Lannister's A+ Parenting, soft jaime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 07:51:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19352680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12/pseuds/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12
Summary: She knew of no married couple on the Island of Tarth that did not share the same chambers. To be certain, Evenfall was hardly as large as the castles that graced Kings’ Landing or the fortress constructed at Casterly Rock, but there was more than enough space for people to spread out if they chose. One of her earliest memories was waking on a small cot in her parents' shared bedchamber, tall enough to see snow out of the window for the first time for her first winter. A gentle winter, following a short summer, but one she remembered clearly as her brother had swept her around the yard to catch snowflakes after her father had carried her from the open window to the breakfast table.She tried to imagine Jaime in a similar circumstance, a small golden lion with his long golden ringlets and a proud lion on his chest laughing as he caught snowflakes in the first breezes of winter. Then she thought of his sister, of the long-dead Tywin Lannister, and the image vanished. She knew in heart that it had never happened.





	Bedsharing

**Author's Note:**

> You're probably wondering why I've been posting so much in the last like four days, and It's because I haven't had a computer since really the finale aired. SO everything, including all my Braime love, has been on my phone. But I hope you all are enjoying these pieces! More to come :) 
> 
> If you have ideas for little one shots for them, feel free to send them my way! :D 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy. Please R and R, let me know what you think!

“You know, my mother and father didn’t share a bedchamber.” When she first heard him say it, it had not registered to her exactly what he had meant. It was their time in the evening, Joanna in her own small bedchamber down the hall and little Catelyn finally sleeping through the night in the correct pattern at nearly eight months old. The time when they had the chance to go over little inquiries, where intimacy, if granted to them, was permitted. Since Catelyn’s difficult birth, they had not ventured fully back into their marriage bed, but the soft moments this quiet hour permitted them were trending that way. She thought about what he said, about how different her life would be if she did not wake to his still-sleeping form, clinging to a few lingering moments of sleep while she was always ready to rise with the sun, was not beside her. “I didn’t realize it was common practice.”

He tried to cover it with a short laugh, but even in the dim light, she could see skin of his ears darken with embarrassment. Jaime was not one to blush across his face, but his ears told a different story. A fact she had learned at Winterfell long ago when she had told him one snowy evening in the training yard that he was even more beautiful when he did not hold into himself so much. A gentle palm on the side of his face and she had felt his ears hot under her touch at the unexpected compliment, covered quickly with the shared warmth of a kiss in a late-winter blizzard.

She knew of no married couple on the Island of Tarth that did not share the same chambers. To be certain, Evenfall was hardly as large as the castles that graced Kings’ Landing or the fortress constructed at Casterly Rock, but there was more than enough space for people to spread out if they chose. One of her earliest memories was waking on a small cot in her parents' shared bedchamber, tall enough to see snow out of the window for the first time for her first winter. A gentle winter, following a short summer, but one she remembered clearly as her brother had swept her around the yard to catch snowflakes after her father had carried her from the open window to the breakfast table.

She tried to imagine Jaime in a similar circumstance, a small golden lion with his long golden ringlets and a proud lion on his chest laughing as he caught snowflakes in the first breezes of winter. Then she thought of his sister, of the long-dead Tywin Lannister, and the image vanished. She knew in heart that it had never happened.

“If you would like a separate chamber, Ser Jaime…” She started sarcastically, setting aside the small book she had been reading. He whipped his head around quickly, halfway through pulling on his sleep tunic. When he realized that she was joking, a rare treat, he smiled in spite of himself. He untwisted the hook they had fashioned for him off of his wrist, setting it atop the dresser before he climbed into bed beside her, leaning back against the headboard.

“I’m starting to think my father wasn’t an affectionate man.” If he hadn’t been smiling, she would have contained her laugh, but it broke down some of the tension that had been put between them by unwelcome, still-lingering ghosts. He reached out his hand, and when she took it in her own, he moved both over to rest on his stomach, laying them palm to palm and pressing his fingers between hers. He seemed pensive.

“I don’t remember what my mother’s face looked like.” He said finally, eyes on the door in front of them but truly fixed far away. “I can remember exact words my father told me as a child and I can’t remember her face.”

“She died when you were quite young…” Brienne said, not truly understanding his feelings. He did not sound sad. Merely contemplative.

“She did.” He agreed. “I have to wonder what her life must have been like.”

Brienne said nothing. A faceless woman with green eyes and blonde curls to match her children hovered in her mind. A crimson dress adorning undoubtedly beautiful features. But where a mothers’ warmth should have been, she was cold. Incomplete in Jaime’s memory, and existing only in pieces in Jaime’s mind.

“Can you imagine being married to Tywin Lannister?” He said, and though he was smiling as he glanced over at her, she could see the strain on his face. She did not laugh this time, only gripped his hand tighter. He looked away from her again, eyes closing for a long moment where the only sound was the distant beating of waves on the eroding shores behind the castle, sounding through their window with one of the early spring breezes.

“I can’t remember my mother’s face. I can’t remember her face and I can still remember that they didn’t share a bedchamber.” He leaned back against the wall, his hand going lax in hers. His voice was thick as the sweet syrup she had craved for all of the nine months she was pregnant with Catelyn and that he pretended he did not stir into his morning porridge. She spared a glance at his face, tears catching on the edge of his beard.

“He used to tell me that I didn’t have to like my wife. That I could have children with her and then never have to speak with her if I didn’t want to.” Brienne felt her heart frost over, remembering her father’s gentle affections with her mother, his carrying her to the birthing bed she had died in when her strength had failed her, tears pouring down his strong face as he held her hand and cradled their final child that had died in her arms. “Then, after this,” He waved his right arm through the air, “He told me that I could still be a decent match if my Lady Wife could overlook my obvious flaws. That we could have children and then she wouldn’t have to speak to me if she didn’t feel so inclined.”

Brienne closed her eyes against that final cruelty. She had seen Tywin Lannister all of one time when she had congratulated Joffrey on his nuptials. He was a cold man, one who stood proudly but had nothing to guard against the hard edges in his gaze. He was calculating and callous, kissing the right hands with no affection, saying the right words with a backhanded goal attached to them. Even at the wedding, he had been at full guard, speaking to Olenna Tyrell and betraying nothing of his true feelings towards any of the ceremony.

Again, she tried to picture a young Jaime, absorbing all of that so soon after losing his mother and almost his brother. She could picture Tywin sitting across from him, saying the words with the same callow tone he used for matters of state, but again, the image of Jaime did not appear.

“I love you, Jaime, and our children.” She said softly, and he squeezed her fingers a bit tighter. “And you are yet to do anything that would make me wish to no longer speak to you.” She added, a bit more pointedly. He had a thin smile on his lips at that, turning his head back around to her.

“You haven’t given me enough time. Surely I’ll think of something.”

“You have my full confidence,” She said, giving him a rare smile back.

The joking note between them vanished into something softer. His eyes met hers, slightly swollen, but with no fresh tears. “Thank you for allowing me to share your bedchamber, my Lady.”

“Our bedchamber, my Lord.” She said back, and he raised their joint hands to press a kiss to the back of her hand. A low burn, deep in her stomach, started to twist tightly. She couldn’t help a small glance at his lips, his eyes widening a bit in surprise.

“Perhaps we could make full use of our bedchamber this evening,” He said thoughtfully.

“You have my full confidence,” She repeated, earning a final smile before his lips pressed against hers, pushing her back against the blankets as his fingers slid under her loose-fitting sleep shirt.

The next morning, she woke before him as she always did, facing towards the open window that let light filter in off the water. Usually, if she didn’t wake on his chest, Jaime was sprawled over the covers, always far too hot to sleep comfortably. But this morning, she could feel his chest against her back, his forehead pressed between her shoulder-blades and his arms wrapped around her waist. She tried to remember a time when she would have felt self-conscious of this exact scenario, sharing a bed with a  naked man after a night of lovemaking evidenced by the sheets that now needed changing. But those days were many years and two children passed, and all she could think truly in that moment was how gratefully she was to wake with him beside her in this small piece of the world that they could call their own.


End file.
